She felt the sudden passion sweep through him,--the high avid wave of tenderness and desire,--and she exulted as all purely innocent women exult when that madness surges first through the veins of the man they love. He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her into the armchair by the fire, and there she took his head on her breast and understood for all time what it means for a woman to be called the mother of men. "You wonder woman," he murmured again. She brushed the dark hair back from his forehead and kissed his eyes. "You dear," she said, "you boy, you little boy." Suddenly through the darkness came the sound of a shrill cry, and the thud of a fall in some room down the corridor. "It's Sheila," Nancy said, "she has those little nightmares and falls out of bed." "I know she does," Collier Pratt said, "but she picks herself up again." "Not always," Nancy said; "don't you want to come in and help me put her back?" "I do not," Collier Pratt said with unnecessary emphasis. Nancy was of two minds about picking the child up in her little white night-gown and bringing her out to her father, flushed and lovely with sleep as she was. It was Collier Pratt's baby she had in her arms; her charge, the child she loved, and the child of the man she loved, a part of the miracle that was slowly revealing itself to her; but a sudden sharp instinct warned her that her impulse was ill-timed. "I had forgotten the child was here," Collier Pratt said when she returned to him. "I hadn't," Nancy said happily. "I suppose she has to be somewhere, poor little wretch," he said. "She's an extraordinarily picturesque baby, isn't she?" Nancy crept nearer to him. He stood leaning against the mantel and frowning slightly, but he made no move toward her again. "She doesn't have nightmares often now," Nancy said with stiffening lips. "She used to have them almost every night, but by watching her diet carefully we have practically eliminated them." "The Hitty person doesn't like me," Collier Pratt said. "_Pas du tout_. She treats me as if I were a book agent." "She loves Sheila, she--she'd do anything for her." "The women who do not find me attractive are likely to find me quite conspicuously otherwise, I am afraid." He had been carefully avoiding Nancy's eyes, but her little cry at this drew his gaze. She was standing before him, slowly blanching as if he had struck her, absolutely still except for the trembling of her lips. "What am I," he said, "to hold out against all the forces of the Universe? Do you love me, Nancy, do you love me?" "You know," she whispered, once more in the shelter of the shabby shoulder. "This is madness," he swore as he kissed her; "we're both out of our senses, Nancy; don't you know it?" "The picture is done, anyhow," she said. "I don't know how I can ever bear to look it in the face, but I shall have to." "It's the best work I've ever done," he said. "I don't look like it now, do I?" He held her off to see.